Title: Mothers (The Evil Within - Chapter 11) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Buffy and Spike patrol and run into more than the bargained for. Anya spills her feelings to Dawn. Giles realizes his place in the puzzle.

Mothers

"Buffy, you're overreacting, Love," Spike huffed as he strode next to Buffy, somewhere between annoyed and amused by her tantrum. Buffy had grown up quite a bit since Emma, but every so often, she turned into a whining school girl once again. Internally, Spike smiled. Even that was relatively endearing.

"I can't *believe*... what were you thinking, Spike?" she shouted, racing along their normal route, almost stomping down the path.

"Niblet asked for a pet. We talked. *You* said 'take care of it'. Sodding slave that I am, I did."

"*That's* not a dog."

"Buffy..." Spike drew a long breath, trying to cool his reaction. This was a bloody family pet, not the sodding apocalypse. "Pet, I did what I could. I wanted to find something safe for Emma but big enough that it might scare off the *human* monsters in case anything should happen to ..."

Buffy slowed a bit, softening just enough that Spike could sense her relax. "Should happen to what?"

"I just felt that he might as well serve a purpose. Watch after my girls if I.. If either of us are gone. Not much scaring from a Corgi, you know," Spike babbled.

Buffy stifled a giggle, trying to hide it from Spike. "But that's a pony," she whined, keeping her smile under wraps. He caught sight of it and grabbed her belt loop, spinning her towards him.

"Pony or no," he purred, her waist now pressed hard against the front of his jeans, his eyes boring holes into hers. "Can't tell me you don't find him charming."

"What would I know about charming?" she answered, her voice lowering to a sultry whisper.

"Dunno, Love," he answered, his lips dangerously close to hers. "Be nice to have another male in the house."

"Going to beg to be walked and drink from a ceramic bowl on the floor too?" Buffy snarked.

"I can think of other canine... treats.. you might enjoy more, Pet," Spike growled, nipping her ear.

Suddenly, Buffy wriggled free, slamming Spike to the ground. He looked up in stunned shock as she vaulted over him, stake appearing as if from thin air, dusting a vamp before her feet ever reached the ground.

Immediately, Spike kipped up, spinning and catching sight of a veritable flock of Vampires surrounding them. Buffy shot a glance at him, winking, excitement twinkling in her eyes. "Ready?"

Spike nodded in reply, producing a stake from his coat pocket. "Ready," he answered, lunging toward the closest vamp.

"Let the games begin."

*****

Quentin strolled down the empty corridor of his palatial estate, a cigar pressed tightly between his teeth. The stale sound of screaming cascaded from the caverns. It was hard to tell which one held which scream.

He sat down at the table in his library, listening to the faint sounds behind the walls. Teach Giles to cross me, he thought. How stupid does he think I am? For his transgressions, Giles would be punished. Dying was too simple. No. Giles will murder the child and then live on to face his every day with her cherry red blood on his hands.

The demon had been loosed. The spell had been cast. The Wheel of Fortune set in motion. A random cascade of events would have to fall exactly into place, but Draconius, the creature that rose within him, had the to power to align them. It was only a matter of time. A matter of patience.

Quentin leaned back in the chair, puffing on his cigar. When the child dies, all that was in the way would be the One. A smile broke on his face. The One will already be destroyed. If the demon is successful in his mission, half will be lost, the other half broken *by* loss. The thought made Quentin giddy. Without them, Draconius could rise. The dimensions could be brought down and the wars can begin. Wars. Profitable wars. And, special bonus gift with disarming the One, access to the Key. Makes dimensional travel and destruction simple and relatively pain free.

And to think, not much longer, Quentin thought. He stood, walking toward the window. The blood red moon was rising in the sky.

*****

"There you go," Anya whispered, pulling Emma from the bathtub and wrapping her in a fluffy white towel. Dawn sat on the counter, the as yet unnamed dog at her feet.

Emma's eyes were sinking as Anya toweled her off. It was obvious to Dawn that she was trying to distract herself. She almost rubbed Emma's skin off before Dawn put a hand on Anya's shoulder. "Pajamas are on the towel rack," Dawn said, gesturing at a pair of pink footies draped against the wall.

"Thanks," Anya answered, grabbing the PJ's and dressing the limp child carefully, drying her hair gently with the towel, brushing it like one would a doll.

"You... you alright?" Dawn asked, watching Anya tear up again as she ran the brush through the baby's shiny blonde ringlets.

"I should have a baby," Anya answered frankly. " I would make a good mother. Someone to love."

"You love Xander," Dawn answered, hopping off the counter and sitting down on the floor next to Anya.

"Someone who loves me back. Even when I say the wrong thing. Even when I'm stupid," she croaked, swallowing a sob.

"You're not stupid and he *does* love you," Dawn said softly, brushing Anya's hair from her face.

"No," the former demon commented quietly. "I'm the consolation prize. The best he could do."

The older of the women stood, picking up the baby and carrying her from the bathroom.

"Anya, that's not true."

"Where should we put Emma to sleep?" Anya asked, changing the subject and hiding her eyes in Emma's soft hair once again.

"Hunh?"

"Her bed or theirs? I know they've been keeping her with them a lot. Must be nice," she said thoughtfully, looking around the room. "You know, to wake up all wrapped around each other."

"You obviously haven't been around Buffy in the morning," Dawn quipped. "But it is kinda cool. They love her. Scary as it sounds, they're *really* good parents."

"Better than yours?" Anya asked, glad for the distraction of conversation.

Dawn thought for a moment. "Well, Spike is a hundred times the father we had. But all he had to do to be better was show up. He's great with both of them. Buffy... well, she's not mom. But she's getting there."

Emma sighed and plopped against Anya's chest. "Think it's bedtime. Where should I put her?"

"Her bed. Spike will come and get her when they get home. It's like a ritual. Not sure if he would be able to sleep if he didn't do it."

"Right," Anya answered, heading toward the crib and laying the little girl down, tucking her in. The puppy followed, stretching out beside the crib and burying its head in its massive paws. "Now what?"

Dawn sat down on the floor, leaving the recliner for Anya. "We wait," she answered, staring at the ceiling. "He does love you," she interjected as she stretched out beside the dog.

"Not enough."

*****

"Buffy!" Spike panted, dusting a vamp then spinning just as another was lunging towards his love. She heard his warning, spinning and thrusting her stake at the same time. They were almost back to back, constantly moving around each other. Through each other. Instinctively.

They were surrounded. Trapped in a circle of Vampires who didn't seem to be in the best of moods.

"Someone forget to tell me about the undead convention in Sunnydale?" Buffy quipped.

"You've seen worse, Pet," Spike answered, still circling, feeling her back inches from his.

"Well, yeah. I'd take all of these morons at once rather than face you when you were evil," Buffy said, while sizing up the horde in front of her.

"Me?" Spike gasped. "Thought you said you'd have kicked me back across the pond, Love."

"I would've," Buffy answered, smiling. "But it would have at least been hard."

"Pet, is that a compliment?" Spike question as a young vamp lunged and Spike took him out with no more than the flick of a wrist and an annoyed smirk.

"I think so," Buffy replied.

"Need to work on your delivery, Pet," he commented, letting his back brush against hers. He could feel her tense then her muscles fire as she spun, kicking a fledgling halfway across the cemetery. "But thanks all the same."

"You're welcome."

"Shall we, Love?" Spike asked, brushing his free hand against hers. He didn't realize. How could he have known that that touch...

"I've been wondering when you were going to ask."

Suddenly, they exploded from the center, moving so quickly that they must have seemed a blur to the undead masses around them. The flurry of movement stunned the vamps and the twenty or so that remained stilled for just a moment. Physically, the two moved independently, but they could sense each other's nerves firing, muscles twitching, hearts racing. Buffy spun, knocking three demons to the ground in one fluid movement. She had dusted two before they could even twitch, then leapt at the third as he scrambled to his feet. It was a split second before she had the stake buried deep within its dead heart.

As she flipped to her feet, she caught sight of Spike cutting a swath through the thick of the pack, simply swinging the stake left then right, so quickly that the creatures barely knew he had a weapon before they were dust in the wind. Buffy circled the periphery, rounding up those that were running to escape Spike. Almost like herding sheep, she thought.

Was I was this stupid when I was first turned?, Spike thought.

Suddenly, Spike heard a yelp and the sound of fabric tearing. He spun from the center of the dwindling pack just in time to see three Vampires descending on Buffy all at once. They were behind her and armed. He lunged forward, watching her hit the ground face first with the thud. She struggled to get up, bucking against the ground, but one vamp was astride her legs and the other two on her arms. The one on her back had a piece of her shirt in his hands.

Anger tore though Spike as he cut through the crowd. He could feel her fear, her fury as he raced towards her, fending off the rest of the pack in his wake.

*****

Giles was sweating. That cold sweat of fever or fear. The creature prowled around the room, occasionally speaking to Giles in words he chose to ignore. Sometimes it chanted at the fire, willing great plumes of smoke into apparitions. Scenes of life and death. Specters of every evil he knew. Sometimes visions that consoled him. Buffy. Emma. Willow. Anya. But as they rose from the fire into the thick, pungent air, they contorted into something wholly disconcerting. It was like watching clouds in the sky, twisting, changing.

More like watching clouds in his youth after a nice joint and a couple of pints, except without the pleasant buzz.

The Watcher closed his eyes, feeling his breath, trying to think. There didn't seem to be any way to avoid this. The cosmic tumblers were clicking into place for Draconius. Simple enough, Giles thought. I won't survive this. Strangely enough, admitting it was a comfort. Death, certainly, was not the worst of all fates.

Still, before he gave in, he had to fashion a way to throw a wrench into the machinery. His own death, at least to him, was inconsequential. But if he succumbed before Emma was taken out of harm's way... that would be unforgivable, even from his grave. She was as good as his own flesh. She would not die on his watch.

His own flesh.

What the creature had told him rang in his ears. The pieces falling into place, just as they had for Buffy. Her connection to Spike had been evident even as enemies. Fate had chosen this lifetime to rejoin them. Just as they were returned to their true essence, just as Draconius had chosen this time to return, the Powers had brought him back. The Father. Despite the fact that the physical connection had faded centuries past, the spiritual connection was still there. The need to protect Buffy. His disdain for the birth father who had abandoned his Slayer. The intense paternal love for his charge and her daughter. Even the vague feeling of familial disappointment and reluctant pride in Spike. It all made a modicum of sense.

All the players had to be here for this chapter, he surmised. The One. Their child, the seed of Peace. The evil. The Father. One was missing.

Mother.

To be contd.

Title: Fury (The Evil Within - Chapter 12) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Buffy and Spike are faced with an army of Vampires. Giles tries to understand the rules of this final game. Xander locates Buffy and Spike and tells them what he knows. Spike has to make a choice that will change everything.

Fury

It was almost like watching life in slow motion. Even with lightening quickness and the ultimate in worldly strength, the twenty feet from the thick of the horde of vampires to Buffy seemed like miles. The fury boiling in Spike's veins as he watched her struggle, the Vampire on her back holding a swath of her shirt like a red flag in front of a bull, ignited everything in Spike. Fight. Protection. Possessiveness. Fear. Most of all, love.

For whatever reason, primarily the pack of vampires clinging to his limbs, he could not get there. Couldn't gain purchase on the damp grass.

"Slayer," the demon hissed, it's game face strong and eager. Buffy bucked against the ground, trying to loose her arms. Her stake had rolled just shy of her reach. She could feel the cold breeze against the back of her neck where her shirt had been torn away and a nagging pain pulsing, burning in her side.

Buffy felt the Vampire shift above her, leaning forward. She sensed him poised there above her neck. Waiting. Taunting. Quickly, she flipped her head to the opposite view and saw Spike. He was running. Or at least trying to. There were five of them clinging to him. His arms. Legs. Waist, but she could see his muscles firing, his legs pumping against the slippery ground. She lifted her head from the turf and saw his eyes. His terror. His anger. His love.

One good day, she thought, feeling the point of the vampire's fangs graze her skin.

Not today. She heard his voice inside her head and saw him dive forward, sliding on the grass and making it just far enough to knock the vampire on her right arm to the ground. In a split second motion, Buffy grabbed the stake and bucked hard, flipping underneath the vampire and driving the stake deep in his heart.

Buffy could feel Spike's rage inside her head, boiling, consuming as she grabbed the leg of the third, hurling it to the ground and staking it as she hopped to her feet. For once, she felt what he had hidden from her. The true nature of the beast. Not Spike's version; tainted by love and by tenderness. But the reality of the Vampire. Cold and angry and passionate.

Spike was in a fury she could barely comprehend. He rarely had slipped into game face since they had been joined, but as she moved, she could see yellow eyes glint as he staked every vampire in his path. She felt the unbridled anger. The perfect counterpoint to his undying love for her. It pumped in her own veins as she followed him through the pack, delighting in the rampage. The feeling was foreign but familiar. Spike had been right. They had never been that different.

Finally, he stood there, panting, his arms outstretched, his face rolled up to the bloodied moon. Buffy looked around, surveying the scene. Nothing. Emptiness. Silence. All of them were gone, but she could not remember a one. Still her mind wound through his and felt the oddest mixture of exaltation, adrenaline, and a palpable edge of sorrow. It occurred to her in that one moment that it was not the kill that had ever interested Spike. It was the fight. The passion. He killed because it was his self-borne duty as her mate. He fought for the love of the fire.

When he lowered his face to hers, it was crystal blue eyes that stared down at her. Soft eyes. Ancient, beautiful eyes. She blinked, unable to fathom the intensity of why lay behind them. Buffy felt the anger melt to love. The fear to concern, as if a switch flipped inside of him. The fight was done. But they were not. They would never be done.

"Love," Spike whispered, stepping towards her. Buffy stood still, dazed by her own emotion. His palm was on her cheek and her eyes lifted back to his. "You alright, Pet?"

Buffy swallowed, drowning in him. "Yeah. Fine."

"What happened?" His hands were on her shoulders, trying to steady her.

"Um... I don't know. Caught me off guard," she replied. Since the One, she'd never been caught off guard. Spike was trying to pull the tattered edges of her shirt together behind her neck. His fingers glided over goosebumps and she shuddered.

"Here," Spike whispered, shrugging off his coat. He gently turned her so her back was to him. Blood trickled from a wound in her side. Spike grimaced, then another switch flipped and it occurred to him that it was his job to tend to her. To them. "You're hurt," he said softly, his hand trailing down her ribs and inching her shirt up so that he could see the cut.

"I'm fine," she countered, annoyed with the idea and tugging her top back down towards her slacks. Spike let his fingers graze against the wound and she winced.

"Fine, eh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He leaned down, inspecting the slice just below her ribs. It trickled a cherry red, but she was right. It was just a nasty scratch. Softly, Spike pulled her shirt down and helped her into his jacket.

"Need to clean that up when we get back," Spike commented, turning her to face him again.

"It's nothing," Buffy answered, pulling his coat tightly around her. Inhaling his scent. Wrapping herself in him.

"Buffy," Spike sighed.

"Spike, I'm fine." Really, she wasn't sure why she was pushing him away. Embarrassment. Aggravation. Old habit.

"It happens," he said quietly.

"What does?" Buffy replied, crossing her arms.

"Getting caught in tough situations." Spike could feel her tense. Buffy was furious at herself for being taken off her guard, and furious with him for calling her on it.

"Not to the Slayer," she snapped, turning away from him.

"*Even* to the Slayer," he responded, turning her back around. He rubbed her shoulder. Her heart wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms and cry out her fear and her failure, but her pride shrugged his hand away. Spike understood that. Knew what it felt like to be the fiercest warrior in all the land and still be conquered.

"Let's get back to business then, shall we, Pet?" When you fall off, best to get right back on the horse, Spike thought.

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. We have a demon to kill."

*****

"Who is the Mother?" Giles asked. In the time he had spent strapped to the frozen, slimy mouth of the cave, his reeling mind had broken to acceptance. All that was left was to figure out the game in order to win before he died.

"Hmmm?" the raven-haired beauty hummed as she sauntered to his place against the wall.

"The Mother?" Giles repeated. "You have made it painfully evident that we all must return. We all must be here in order for you plan to succeed. All who were there at the First."

"Clever little Watcher," it said, flashing a perfect smile. Still, Giles could see the emptiness of its heart behind its coal black eyes.

"Fairly obvious really," Giles commented. "The Peacemaker was brought into this dimension at this precise time. Draconius chose this era to arise. The One has been rejoined. And I.."

"And you," it repeated. "You should know your own mate. Tsk, tsk," it chastised.

"I have no *mate*," Giles answered.

"If you only got out more," the creature commented, pressing its soft, red lips to his. Giles could feel the horrid scales just below the surface and cringed away from the beast. He felt the creature back away, grinning.

"She is among you. The physical bonds are long past for all. But spiritually, we were connected always at the First. In every life, in every dimension, we travel together. A new name. A new face. A new role to play. Father, daughter, mother son, protector, saviour, murderer, lover. We are all just part of a cosmic play. The Wheel spins anew until all of the pieces *snap* into place and all of the players assume the correct roles. It was in the cards," it riddled, strolling around the flickering fire.

"So who is the last piece?" Giles asked again.

"The Mother will bring the child," it answered. Giles thought carefully about how to move on.

"And then what?" he finally said, at a loss for anything but bluntness.

"The game will begin. The child will die. Draconius will destroy the walls and rule as it should have been at the First," it answered, frankly.

Giles licked his parched lips. Well, it seems to be in a chatty mood, he thought. "What is the game?"

The raven-haired creature let out a raucous laugh. "You think I would tell you?" it chuckled, walking back towards him.

"I'm not sure I see the harm," Giles responded, calmly. "I will not kill Emma. You have told me this will lead to my death. Knowing the rules seems.... inconsequential."

The creature smiled, tilting its head and studying the Watcher's face. "Alright," it conceded. "'I'll give you a hint. One will be separated. One taken. The remaining must chose."

"Sp.."

"Ah, ah," it interrupted, putting a cold, pale finger across his lips. "If you want me to talk, you must listen." Giles nodded in response. "The beauty of it is that the Mother must save the child, but the Mother cannot be saved but *for* the child." it riddled. Why does evil always speak cryptically?, Giles thought. He moved to speak again, but caught the creature's warning glare and his jaw snapped shut. "The blood of one can end the game, but it must be a willing sacrifice."

"But I have said that I..."

"*You* do not get to choose."

"I will not let them die!"

"*You* it snapped, grabbing Giles around the throat, "are in no position to make demands." The coal black eyes glimmered, sparkling like obsidian in candlelight. "The *game* chooses. You humans," it cackled with disgust, dropping its hand from the Watcher's throat. Giles choked, coughing, his face now red with effort. "Such an *arrogant* breed." The creature's disdain was evident in its tone. Its movement. "So technologically advanced, so *superior*, " it spat. "But in your inane quest for knowledge, you have forgotten the simplest of all concepts."

"And what is that?" Giles coughed.

The creature spun, glaring at him. "We are all just players in a game. Pawns to the Powers. All we have, all we have been given, all we do, we are destined to do. Fate has bound us. Fate will release us. We do not get to choose."

"Sorry," Giles responded. "I don't believe that. We may be set upon our path, but we can choose to follow or to change."

"Silly, *insolent* boy," it croaked, changing to the old sorceress. Her red eyes pierced him like daggers. "Your choices have already been made."

*****

Xander ran, his feet hitting the ground in a slow but steady rhythm. His heart pumped fast, exploding into his head like a distant fireworks display. The cemetery had never seemed so far. But carrying the weight of a secret and a heavy heart burdened his movement.

The gates flashed into sight and he picked up the pace, sweat trickling gown his neck. He wasn't sure if it was fear or exertion, but he knew he had to find them. Now. Ten minutes ago. A lifetime past.

It seemed like hours that he ran, dodging headstones and flower arrangements. Sunnydale must have the busiest florists around, he thought. Not to mention a booming undertaking market. Maybe he needed a new line of work. He glanced down and saw names. Names he knew. Maybe not.

Finally, a glimpse of near white hair caught his eye. Then a tiny frame wrapped in a jacket that nearly dragged the ground. An odd sight really. They didn't look that ominous. That *One* - like. Just a couple out on a stroll. A couple. Buffy and Spike. Ugh. Strolling though the houses of the dead.

"Buffy!" Xander called out, trying to catch his breath. "Spike!"

They turned around in perfect harmony, mirroring each other like dancers on a stage. "Xander?" Buffy questioned, jogging towards him, Spike at her heels. "You OK?"

"Fine," he panted, hands on his knees, bent over and gasping for air. Maybe I need to hit the gym, he thought.

"Feeling alright, Harris?" Spike asked. It was a sincere question, but one that rubbed Xander the wrong way. Still, more pressing things than a good insult match with SuperVamp.

"Fine," Xander panted again. "Look, I know what's going on."

"Which what?" Buffy asked, crossing her arms.

"Gym. Spell. It was me."

"You...was...?" Buffy said, crinkling her nose in confusion.

"Spill it, Harris. Haven't got all night," Spike huffed. "Nasty demon we need to take care of."

"Give it a rest, Peroxide Boy," Xander shot back. "The spell...it was... it took me first."

"*You're* the threat?" Buffy inquired incredulously, chuckling.

"Not at the moment, but thanks for the vote of confidence," Xander snarked.

"Then who?" Spike asked.

"Willow."

"Willow?" Another incredulous giggle from the Slayer.

"Trust me. Willow," Xander answered, standing up straight again and regaining control of his breath.

"How'd it jump?" Spike questioned, staring at the boy. Believing him.

"A kiss."

"You? Kissed Willow?" Buffy question, shaking her head as if a nasty thought had crept in. A nasty thought *had* crept in.

"Look, I'll tell you the whole gruesome tale after I get through the being gutted by a former Vengeance Demon. But isn't Willow at *your* house?" Xander gushed.

"Oh God," Buffy gasped, her hand clapping over her mouth. Spike was already in motion. Xander looked at Buffy, knowing she was terrified and torn.

"Look Buffy, there's a lot of people at the house. I'll go with Spike to get Willow and we'll be back in a jiff. You go protect the world from Big Badness," Xander reasoned.

"But I can't leave her.." Just as the words came from Buffy's mouth, an enormous gray creature ambled from behind the crypt to her right. It roared, lunging at her. Spike turned, hearing the sound, watching in horror as Buffy spun to block against a tree trunk sized arm.

"Buffy!" Spike yelled, running back towards her.

"Spike, go get Emma," she screamed back, planting a kick in the demon's gut, knocking it back a few feet. "Xander, go with him. Willow might listen to.."

"Buffy," Xander called weakly.

"Go!" Buffy ordered, dodging another blow.

"Buffy, no!" Spike answered. Then he heard her voice inside her head. 'If you ever have to make the choice....'

"Spike, Go.Now."

Spike looked at her, so tiny wrapped in his coat, and felt his heart breaking in his chest. 'Go' he heard again, her voice pleading with him.

Spike tore himself from the spot and ran towards Revello, not looking back. Ran away from his love.

To be contd.

Title: Safe (The Evil Within - Chapter 13) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Spike leaves Buffy to fight a near unbeatable demon in order to save Emma. Will he make it in time? Will she be able to hold off the demon until help returns?

Safe

Spike bolted towards the house at a pace Xander could not fathom, much less keep up. The Vampire was a block ahead of him, but even from that distance, Xander could see his shoulders shudder as if he were sobbing as he ran.

It was a conscious decision for Spike to take every step forward. Part of him was desperate to run back to Buffy. "Slayer, Slayer, Slayer," he chanted to himself in rhythm with his pounding stride, trying to convince himself that by virtue of her calling, she could defeat anything.

But Spike knew better.

He had defeated two.

The thought tore at him like a thousand daggers. His mind reeled. Even now, over a mile away, he could feel her every move. Her heart exploding. Her muscles firing, burning. But more, her fear. Her fear of the monster she was battling. Her fear that Spike might not reach Emma in time.

Oh God, Spike thought. She's distracted.

Emma.

Spike moved impossibly faster down the pavement.

*****

Rotting flesh, Buffy thought, catching a whiff of the slimy horrific demon. It's arms were rather more tentacles which, as she narrowly missed being swatted by one, were covered in little suction cups, each with a solitary barb in the center. No more sushi for me, she thought, trying to trip the creature but barely even budging it. The force of her swinging leg knocked her to the ground.

As she hit the grass, stunned, she could feel Spike's heart pound, his legs burn. Still running. Dammit, hurry up. Get Emma.

Buffy brought herself into the fight just in time to roll out of the way of one of the enormous tentacles. "Not today," she quipped, jabbing her stake through its foot and jumping up to spin kick it to the ground. It fell with an Earth shaking thud, roaring, denting the turf as it hit.

'Weapon' she muttered to herself. 'Need weapons'.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Spike's crypt. Hesitating for a split second, she thought run and I might lose it. Stay and can't kill it without a weapon. Buffy scrambled to her feet and fled to the crypt.

*****

She's inside, Spike thought. Good girl. Wait for me, Pet. If it runs off, we'll find it. Or it'll find us. Stay there, love.

His feet hammered against the sidewalk, hopping the stairs in one leap. The door almost came off it's hinges save for the thought that the door helped to keep the nasties out. Spike fumbled in his pocket for his keys, pulling them from his jeans, dropping them with a clatter to the wooden deck.

"F..." he muttered under his breath. Spike ducked down, grabbing them, trying again as if unlocking the door was akin to solving the riddle of the Sphinx.

As he eased the key into the lock with shaking hands, the door swung wide as if of its own volition. He jumped back, high on adrenaline, his body on full alert.

"What's wrong, Spike?" Willow asked.

*****

Buffy rummaged through Spike's armoury. He had an entire cabinet full of toys stowed in the crypt. Away from Emma, she thought, as she heard the thundering racket of an oversized tentacle thumping against the wooden door.

"Stakes, Holy Water, Dagger. Dammit Spike. Where's the good stuff?" she argued with the air, tossing the tools of her trade to the floor. It hadn't occurred to her that Spike had stowed everything she needed to kill his kind. To kill him, if she had to. She never would. Not now. They were One.

One.

Buffy closed her eyes and wandered to him. Still no Emma. She could feel when he had their daughter. It was like a ship finding calm water. Still, his heart pumped, his body tense. Another clatter at the door brought her back.

"Hurry up!" she screamed, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls.

Buffy flung the cabinet to the floor, spilling its contents and knocking out a wooden panel in the back. "Didn't want the Bads to find your stash," she smiled, raising her eyebrows at the swords, a battle axe and other large and ugly tools.

She dove for the axe, just as the door blew past her and into the far wall of the crypt. Buffy grinned, swinging the axe above her head, letting it circle her. "You want me?" she snarled at the creature in the doorway. It's black eyes glinted back at her. "You'll have to work for it."

*****

Spike grabbed Willow by the shoulders, lifting her off her feet and setting her down on the deck outside.

"Spike..what are...?"

"Get out of my house," he snarled, sliding back into game face.

Willow's eyes flew wide. Fear coursed through her. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him like this. Yes. She could. In a school yard. One night when she destroyed everything and killed him in the process. He never called her on it. Never paid her back. Now was the time. "What? Why?" the girl muttered, swallowing, choking on her words.

"Stay.Away." Spike roared, pushing her against the porch rail.

"Spike!" Xander called from the walkway. "Spike, stop!" Xander watched Spike's yellow eyes glance his way, then turn back to Willow. "Spike, don't hurt her."

"Not going to. Want her gone," Spike hissed, trying to control the urge to kill that which threatened his family.

"I...I'll go," Willow stuttered, clinging to the railing with white knuckles. She could almost feel her racing heart in her fingertips.

Xander approached the porch carefully. Spike was obviously beyond control. Not that Xander could really blame him. At least not this time. Still, if there was anything he had learned about Spike, it was that the Vampire in him was impulsive when hurt or angered. Even if he didn't intend it, when it came to the Summers women, any threat would be lucky to survive.

"Spike," Xander said calmly. "She doesn't know. *I* didn't know."

"Know... know what?" Willow asked, cherubic face red and frightened.

"Will," Xander admonished, shooting her a glance that said 'Shut.Up' in thirteen different languages. "Spike, let me take her away, OK? We'll both go and not come back until it's over and Emma is safe. Alright?"

Spike was quiet, his Vampire visage still masking his human features. His hands clenched and unclenched in a gesture that made Xander want to flee. Now.

'Hurry up, Spike. Get Emma.' He could hear her in his head. Pleading. His face shifted to human.

"Take her and go," Spike said coldly, stepping back from the red head. Xander bolted up the stairs.

"Thank you," Xander uttered, grabbing Willow's arm, but Spike was already half way up the indoor staircase.

*****

"What the heck?" Dawn mumbled, sitting bolt upright. The dog hopped to its feet next to her. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Dawn stood up, assuming the stance that Spike had taught her in all of their training room spars, and blocked the way to the crib. It made her look somewhat intimidating, despite her childlike features and shampoo commercial hair.

Anya's eyes popped open just as Emma's door flew back into the wall, and Spike strode in, completely consumed by adrenaline. His Vampire face had returned, as if he'd lost control of it, and he stared at Dawn with yellow eyes. He watched the teenager for a minute, softening, but not changing back.

"S..Spike?" Dawn whispered tentatively. She could not help but wonder, but fear, that something had happened. Like Angel. Something had made him... bad.

Anya was deadly still, sensing the hair trigger on the Vampire. She had a talent for making others peeved on a good day. Not a good idea to try it out now, she thought.

"Spike?" Dawn repeated with more confidence. He looked at her, concentrating, trying to calm himself. Spike shook his head, allowing his human features to return to him. "Spike are you...?"

The Vampire did not answer, just strode toward the crib. Gently, he leaned over and scooped the soundly sleeping tot into his arms. His heart slowed as she nestled her head into his shoulder and the fresh smell of baby shampoo and powder drifted to nose. Safe, he thought, as if it was the only cogent thought he could produce. Safe.

A hand rested on Spike's shoulder. He opened his eyes and turned to face Dawn. "Spike, everything OK?"

He was silent, staring at her intently. "Willow," he finally whispered.

"Willow? Willow what?"

"The spell."

"Willow?"

"Yes, Nibs," he answered, stroking Emma's hair.

"Is she gone?" Dawn asked, perplexed by the new information.

"Harris has her," Spike answered. Anya involuntarily winced. Spike's hands ran gently over Emma's limbs. A silent inventory to assure himself that she was in one piece.

"She's safe, Spike." Dawn said quietly, watching his eyes. Seeing that it was fear that was making him so crazed. Not anger. Fear.

"Thank you," Spike answered, letting his hand touch Dawn's arm.

"Where's Buffy?"

The sound of her name brought the panic flooding back like a tidal wave.

Buffy.

She was alone. Fighting a ten foot tall demon with some nasty attributes. Dawn saw the look of fright cross Spike's face and snatched Emma before he ran off still clinging to the little girl.

"I have to go, Dawn. *Don't* leave her," Spike pleaded, planting a kiss on the top of Emma's head and one against Dawn's cheek.

"I won't" Dawn answered, worry shaking her words.

"Good girl, Pet." Before she could answer, he was back out the door.

*****

"Tara!" Spike called from halfway between the bottom step and the open door. The Witch appeared from around the corner. "Protection spell. House. Room. No demons. Leave a hole for me. Check with Cyrus as well. Not sure what *he* is..."

"Spike, I..." Tara stuttered, terror in her eyes. But before she could finish the thought, Spike was on the sidewalk, running down the side of the road in a blur of platinum and black leather.

*****

Buffy swung the axe, her whole body leaned into the motion. Its rotten skin was as hard as iron, but her latest blow hacked a chunk from the hide of it's arm and elicited an Earth shattering howl. Buffy tossed the axe into the air as the creature lunged towards her, back flipping over the couch and snatching the weapon from the air in which it hung as she landed. She backed towards the door, wanting to get it outside again. There she'd have more room to maneuver. There she was more likely to find Spike.

It lurched again towards her, spitting some sort of horrid yellow substance. Buffy dodged and heard the liquid splat into the wall like a paintball. So, this nasty has a couple of fun features, she thought.

"Well, come on," Buffy taunted. "Get me." The creature hopped forward with amazing quickness and grace for its size, and trampled an end table on its way towards her. She retreated to the doorway, the axe held in front of her like a lion tamer holds a chair. About as much protection as well, she thought.

Suddenly, she felt it. A wave of calm sweep over her. The feeling she had when she awoke wrapped around Emma, Spike encircling them both. Safe, she thought. Catching her hand on the door frame to steady herself, she tried to find him in her mind. To make sure he had Emma and the fight was even worth fighting after all. He had her. Emma was safe.

The demon saw the Slayer relax for a split second and lunged, bringing down a tentacle. The blow missed its mark, but sent the axe clattering to the stone floor. Buffy jumped, awakening from her reverie, and backed the last step into the night.

*****

Spike bolted through the cemetery gates, his senses tuned to every sound, every scent. He could track her anywhere. She was him and he, her. He darted down the walkway and into the grass, hurtling headstones as if they were stepping stones in a school yard.

She hadn't stayed inside, he thought. At least not alone. Her body in motion. Her scent laced with fear and fatigue and will.

Then it all stopped.

Like someone had hung up on the other end of a phone line. Silence. Spike ran faster.

*****

As she stepped backwards into the grass, her foot slid in the dew. It wasn't much. Not enough to make her fall. But she stumbled, her hands instinctively stretching out in front of her to balance. The creature made a sound. Almost a chuckle, she thought, as the slow motion world sharpened and a tentacle wrapped around her outstretched wrists.

It was peaceful, really. Well, after the initial sting of all those little barbs sinking into her tender skin. She barely felt the other slimy arm slap her across the face and neck, pricking her pretty peach cheeks, her lips, her chin, her neck. Buffy felt herself sinking and realized she was dropping to her knees, then falling back on her heels, then sliding down into the grass.

The moon was huge and red. Every star twinkled. Every comet blazed. It was pretty.

She heard a voice. A horrendous commotion. Like someone tap dancing on her grave. None of it made any sense. But the shiny yellow stars twinkling were perfect. There was screaming and she felt the ground shake under her, but they were singing now. I didn't know that the stars made noise, Buffy thought.

It was a familiar sound next to her, but she couldn't turn her head. Didn't want to. Couldn't speak. Didn't have to. Her cheeks were wet. Like rain. And then this perfect face above her. She wanted to touch it, but her arms were so tired. So she stared at the pretty blue eyes. The colour of the sky. Buffy lingered there, listening to the stars.

*****

Spike rounded the corner where he'd left her. Alone. Abandoned her there to face that thing. But she was gone. He closed his eyes and tried to still his mind, but not a sound. A movement. A whisper.

He spun, eyes flying open at the sound of commotion. His crypt. Spike raced towards it, following the beasts heavy footprints in the grass. As he rounded the corner of the last of the mausoleums, the world just stopped.

Buffy was on her knees, staring at the creature as if in prayer or in awe. He couldn't see her face. Not clearly. Couldn't see the arm wrapped around her wrists. But Spike hurtled towards them as the demon raised its tentacle and flung it down across her face. Her head snapped back and she crumpled, sliding down herself like a rag doll.

He was in mid air when it struck, diving at the creature, trying to intercept the blow, but he couldn't.... he didn't. He felt it hit her, her head crashing back, bruising her face. Spike couldn't stop it. Not by action. Not by his scream.

He landed, rolling in front of her, grabbing the axe from the doorway. Nothing really made sense after that. Just rage and grief and blow after senseless blow until he heard the thing thud into the Earth. Spike stepped towards its ruined shape and lowered the axe in one final blow to the neck.

The fury died. Spilled out into the night like wax from a candle. He turned, thinking it all wasn't real. Another test. It had all been some sort of hallucination.

But there she was. Lying just as she had that night... the last time he had failed her. The last time he had not been fast enough, or strong enough, or clever enough to save her.

"Buffy?" He crumpled next to her. She gazed up at the stars, unblinking. "Love?" Still she gazed. He could feel the hot tears streak down his face, the primal roar of grief and rage escaping as his sorrow, his failure, rained down on her battered, beautiful face.

She looked cold, he thought, a million screaming demons racing through his mind. He slid his arms under her and pulled her tight against him. She was limp. Like Emma when she slept. Buffy's head fell against him and he realized, as her blank, brilliant, eyes gazed up at his, that she wasn't there at all.

To be contd.

Title: Away (The Evil Within - Chapter 14) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Spike returns to find that Buffy failed to conquer the demon and has to live with the consequences of his decision. Buffy awakes away from her life. But where is she and who will she come across in her journey? The snake in the garden is revealed and it is time for Quentin to seek his revenge for what happened at the First.

Away

Tara sat cross-legged on the living room floor, a candle glowing bright in front of her. Cyrus watched as she chanted, a swirl of silvery light growing around her. Her voice was quiet, soothing, lulling him into security as she wrapped the spell around them, around the house. The room slipped out of focus and stilled. It wasn't until he heard the distant word 'Frozen' that he realized it.

This wasn't a protection spell at all.

The Evil was within.

Tara hopped to her feet, strolling towards the staircase, humming merrily as she went. Cyrus ordered his body to move, to leap, to throw his life down to protect the child and that for which she stood. But he could not move. His limbs were lifeless. Doll-like. Heavy as lead. His body was anchored to the chair as if he were strapped tightly in a glass box. His mind processed it. His eyes watched it happen. But there was nothing he could do to stop her.

Nothing.

Tara wandered up the stairs with a pleased grin on her sweet face and a song on her pretty, full lips.

*****

"Buffy, please!" Spike pleaded as he held her against him. She was so tiny. How could the Powers have expected someone this small to handle all they had charged her with?, Spike thought. His tears covered her face, but she didn't flinch. Not when he traced the livid welts on her pale skin, her coral lips. Not when he shook her, as if trying to rouse her in the morning when she'd been working way too late. Not when he spoke to her or tried to reach inside her mind. Her body was alive. Warm. Pumping blood at a dangerously slow pace that thumped in his ears like a wind up toy running low. But her soul, his soul, had drifted off like a balloon set free by a child.

"Don't go, Pet," Spike whispered, tracing her face with his fingers, letting his lips brush softly against hers. He could taste her blood. Feel the heat from the horrible wounds. "We've got work to do. Emma... Emma needs her mum. Time to rest later." He knew she could not hear him. She wasn't there to hear his pleas, but he felt he had to try. The thought of living again without her... of explaining to her friends that he had left her there. Explaining it to Dawn. Having to tell Emma what her mum had been like before her father had let her die...

"No!" he roared into the sky, clutching Buffy against him. "No. No. No." His body quaked with sorrow and guilt and anger, but she was still. Those pretty doe eyes still gazing blankly at him.

At least this time he could hold her.

*****

The door to Emma's room creaked open and the light flickered to life. Dawn shook her head, the puppy mirroring her.

"Tara?" Dawn asked.

"Frozen," Tara repeated. Dawn was still, propped upon her elbows on the floor.

Anya stirred, staring up at the Witch. Emma began to fuss in the background, her slumber shattered by light and noise. "Tara?" Anya asked, looking sleepily at her friend. "What's wrong?"

Tara extended a hand to Anya, pulling the startled woman from the recliner. "Nothing," Tara answered, winking slyly.

"But Dawn..."

"Is not your concern," Tara snapped, pushing Anya hard against the wall and pinning her. She pressed her lips hard to the former demon, sucking in her breath. Blowing out the evil. Crumpling to the floor in a frozen heap as Anya took a deep breath and rocked back on her heels.

The wheel had been set in motion once again.

*****

It would have been easier to have taken her into the crypt. To have laid her down in the bed that they had shared in secret for so many nights. But it didn't seem right, Spike thought. To take her there and know that, eventually, he would have to leave her once again to retrieve Emma. Besides, the crypt was not her home. It wasn't his either. It never had been. Merely refuge in the storm. I can't leave her again, he thought. As long as her heart still beats in her chest, as long as she still... is... I won't leave her.

Softly, Spike slid his hand under her knees, scooping her up and slowly standing. She was so fragile now. Like she might break from his touch. As if everything about her that had been the Slayer; his fierce warrior, his passionate lover, had blown away in the breeze or been swallowed by the stars. Spike blinked, barely noticing the steady stream of tears still slipping down his cheeks.

"My fault," he choked as he moved slowly like a man on his wedding aisle, or a funeral procession. "My fault, Love. I should've never left you. Shoulda known that Harris could have handled her what with all the others hanging about. Shoulda helped you first, Pet. Never leaving again. Never walking away. If it takes me forever to get you back, or forever to lose you, I will stay." His words were choked by sobs as he walked. Her pretty green eyes stared still. He wanted to close them. To make her stop... staring that dead stare. But he was afraid. Afraid that if his fingers slid over her eyelids, hiding her, he would never see her again. Like closing a window. So he watched her brilliant, blank, stare with every step.

"I'll get you home, Pet. Fix you up," Spike whispered, brushing blood-matted hair from her battered face. She was so beautiful to him. Even covered in the wounds of a battle lost, her features barely recognizable, she was still the most lovely creature in the world. Spike realized that it would not have mattered what she looked like anymore. He loved her so completely that her beauty was deep inside of him. Of them.

And now she stared blankly into his eyes. Empty inside.

"My fault," he whispered again, sobbing into spun gold hair, clutching her frail frame ever closer. "C'mon, Pet. Forgive me once more. I need you. Emma. Don't leave her behind. She needs her mum. I don't blame you. I understand if... sod it, Love. I'll leave if you want. Give it up. Everything. If you come back. Or stay. Or whatever the bloody hell you want just don't leave us. Alright, Pet?" Spike rambled, madness taking control. He was losing it. Losing her. Losing himself. Losing everything.

He closed his eyes, still walking, plodding towards their home. Spike took a breath, trying to still his mind. Have to keep it together. Not like before, he thought. Niblet was old enough to understand. To give me time and space for selfish rampages and hopeless tears. Emma can't. Have to be strong. Have to get her home. Clean her up. Set about making this right.

Life would be well again once he could think. Could find his way to bring her back. Needed to get her home. Tuck her into their bed. Wrap her round her tot. She'd come back then. Won't leave Emma alone.

A horrible thought crossed his mind just as hope had tried to enter. What if she couldn't come back? Worse yet, what if she did not want to?

*****

"Spike?" Buffy called out, bleary eyed. She was laying in the grass, her hands rubbing her smooth cheeks. "Hunh," she mumbled to herself. "Could have sworn it got me across the face."

Her eyes adjusted and she realized it was daylight. Puffy, blue clouds rolled across a cerulean sky like one of those time lapsed videos on the Discovery Channel. She shook her foggy head, trying to grasp her surroundings. No crypt. No headstones. Just a meadow. Smooth and lush and decidedly non-buggy. A grove of fruit trees stood in the distance. The smell of the sea. The feel of warm sun on her skin.

Buffy surveyed herself. She was barefoot, dressed in a yellow sundress with tiny forget-me-nots embroidered along the silk. Not Slayer wear. Not Slayer territory. Not in Sunnydale anymore, Toto, she thought. Not sure where.

"Spike?" she called again, pushing herself up on decidedly rested legs. She felt amazingly well except for an ache in her belly and a sort of loneliness that she couldn't really place. "Spike?" But there was no answer. "Emma?" she called. Worth a try. The Peacemaker had found her every time she had been lost since... well, since she'd carried her. But nothing. Only the tranquil sound of the distant ocean and the rustle of wind in leaves.

She began to walk towards to grove, trying to figure out where she was and where she was supposed to be. It seemed unlikely that a slimy, gray, tentacly thing would kidnap her to a meadow full of daisies. That's not what demons did to Slayers. Well, except maybe Spike, but he hadn't been very good at the demon-y end of things since they'd met. It seemed much more plausible that she'd hopped dimensions. 'Ha,' she chuckled as she strolled through the soft grass. More believable that I passed into another dimension than was dropped off two towns over in a field. Only in our lives, she thought. Ours. Spike.

A pang of loss and sorrow crashed into her. Spike's alone. We promised no more alone. And Emma. Did he get her in time? Need to get back, she thought, her resolve steeling, her stride quickening although where she was headed seemed uncertain.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the distance. A familiar, welcome, sweet voice. "Buffy? Buffy is that you?"

Buffy spun on one bare foot and stared at the little alcove in the tree line. What she saw broke her heart and mended it.

"Mom?"

*****

The fire blew plumes of acrid smoke at the roof of the cave. It was rhythmic, entrancing Giles. Hypnotizing him. Paralyzing his mind. The raven-haired beauty stood next to the blaze, tossing what looked like jewels into the endless heat. Little, twinkling jewels.

Like stars.

Footsteps snapped Giles back into the game. The sound of hard-soled dress shoes clicking against stone. Slowly, he lifted his hanging head and looked across the cavern at Quentin. His boss. His mentor. The embodiment of all evil past and all that was to be.

Even in his defeat, there would always be another evil.

"It is time," Quentin said flatly to the woman as he brushed past her. The woman nodded, falling to her knees in submission, her form shifting yet again. The hag slumped over the stone wall surrounding the fire. Chanting. Bobbing. Stretching her hands into the blaze.

"Enjoying the show, old friend?" Quentin asked, sidling up next to Giles. Only he wasn't Quentin anymore. His body was the same, but the blackness beneath, the horrible endless darkness crawled under his skin as if his blood had been replaced by tar. His soul by emptiness.

"We are not friends. We were *never* friends," Giles replied, swallowing against the heinous smell, the arid feel of his throat.

Quentin chortled in response. "Don't suppose we were," he answered, lighting a cigar, slowly, luxuriating in its rich taste, the feel of the smoke curling against his skin. "You were the Ripper. And then you reformed to become Daddy dearest to an orphaned ragamuffin. How dear of you? To sacrifice your own life for her meaningless contentment."

"I will gladly sacrifice it if you stop this, Quentin. If anything good or decent is left in your black heart, you won't harm the child."

"Sorry to say, old man, but there is not. Nothing *you* would label good or decent. Not in your utopic world of black and white. You used to see the gray, Rupert. But the Slayer changed you. Not for the better, I might add." The former Watcher took a long draw from his cigar, letting the smoke curl around Giles' defenseless face. "Besides, the child is not a *child*. Just as you are not simply a Watcher, nor your Slayer, nor her Vampire... None of us are what we walk around pretending to be. The girl is older than us all, and a force more powerful than even the One.."

"A force for good," Giles countered.

"As you see it. She is ... not so... to me."

"She is a *baby*," Giles pleaded. "A little girl, Quentin. Even at your worst... butchering an innocent?"

" I will gladly kill you all," Quentin responded flatly, taking another inhale from his smoke. "But *she* is my prize. Not an innocent at all, really. She's an extension of the Powers. That which created you and your merry band of buggereds, but also that which created *me*. It's Cain and Abel. A biblical justice."

"No religion condones... this," Giles commented, shaking his head, wanting to break free and rid the world of this plague.

"I am my own religion," Quentin continued. "To put it simply, as your brain seems to be sorting information at a dangerously lethargic rate, I make the rules here. I force fate to comply..."

A noise interrupted Quentin's latest tirade as the flames shot up, licking the roof of the cavern. Quentin squealed in almost a childlike joy as the fire receded, leaving only the imprint of a star smoldering against the cold stone ceiling.

"It has begun."

*****

Anya stood stock still, her mind reeling, eyes adjusting to the now dark room. Where she stood seemed distant, yet she could feel her bare feet in the thick carpet and the cool air from the window brushing her hair from her cheeks. She extended her arms in front of her, staring at her hands.

It seemed as if they had been set ablaze and she winced instinctively, shaking her palms as one would after pulling wet dishes from the sink. But there was no pain. No hurt. No anything.

The flames subsided and she stared once again at her smoldering palms. All that was left was a faint glow. A small star still painlessly ablaze in her left palm. Anya studied it, her mind focusing, but not processing the information. As if she knew what but not why. A mindless automaton, as Spike liked to complain.

Why?

Anya noticed another faint glow in the dark. She walked towards it, finding only a small child laying quietly, a warm brightness emanating from the back of her neck. The Star. Anya reached into the cradle, allowing her palm to touch against the brightness. To mingle with it. To feel the child come to her, cuddling warmly, willingly, against her chest. Tiny, soft breaths caressing the former demon's cheeks. Anya closed her eyes, but what was behind them was more than she could bear.

A dagger hung weightlessly in the air before her. The handle was ivory, an eye meticulously carved into the stone. Around the eye, a dragon, coiled, its eyes glowing red. A voice inside of her spoke. An old voice.

"The Key."

To be contd.

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